A Place of Our Own
by Ms.MaraJade
Summary: Annoyed with the delay the council is taking to decide on a critical vote, Aramis finds solidarity in another resident of the palace who reveals that the First Minister is not the only one who experiences annoyances. Part of the September Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Annoyance.


_Author's Notes_ : I wasn't certain I would be able to come up with an entry for this month's challenge, but I let fate guide my words and began typing with only the barest sketch in my mind. That sketch had blossomed into a portrait of words, and I am thankful to my Muse for landing on my shoulder once again. I hope that this entry meets with the expectations and rules of the challenge, and that it captures the spirit of "The Musketeers." One caveat: I do not know if the dauphin's governess (post-Marguerite) had ever been named, but if the name I am using is incorrect, please let me know so I can correct it accordingly.

 _Disclaimer_ : I do not own "The Musketeers" in any capacity with the exception of the books written by Alexandre Dumas from where these characters were inspired. There is no money made from this hobby, but that does not stop my imagination from conjuring up new stories.

 _Summary_ : Annoyed with the delay the council is taking to decide on a critical vote, Aramis finds solidarity in another resident of the palace who reveals that the First Minister is not the only one who experiences annoyances. Part of the September Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Annoyance.

 **A Place of Our Own**

He could feel the angry flush rising from the pit of his stomach and extending into his chest. It was hot and cold simultaneously, each sensation attacking him with equal strength. It was a contradiction that melded into a cohesive and unforgiving battle, forcing him to clench his fists to keep himself from lashing out with the insults that would have so easily fallen from his lips in the past. He could only liken the overwhelming feelings to a disease that was spreading quickly over his entire body, and as it finally reached his face, he was stuck with keeping his frustrated silence by alternating between grinding his teeth and biting the inside of his cheek.

Around him, they all bantered and bickered like a lost flock of hens, too busy arguing amongst themselves to realize that the wolf was simply waiting for the ripe moment to attack. Quietly seething in his frustration, he shifted his eyes to the smooth-talking elder whose gray hair blended into his beard, making it difficult to discern where one mass of hair ended and the other started. He wore finely-tailored, green clothes with silver threads sparkling in the morning sunlight, as the yellow glow of the shifting sun streamed in from the council chamber windows.

Then, the fiery, red-haired man, who was one of the younger men on the council, began talking over the elder gentleman. His crimson-dyed sleeve flapped in the air as he began pointing a finger around the table. He might have been a decent ally, if not for his quick temper and his unhinged compulsion to get lost within his own tangents.

The others at the table had now fallen into silence, allowing the theatrics of these two dominant personalities to volley their opinions. However, it was finally the quietest one of the council, the dark-haired man who stood taller than all of them that had brought silence to the arguments. He merely had to sit up straighter, and his presence had caught the attention of the other two amidst their bickering for a slight moment. This proverbial tall, dark, and handsome man wore an equally dark gray ensemble with trimmings in indigo that were overly saturated with dye. His deep voice remained calm as he suggested a vote on the matter, rather than wasting the day in arguments that held no substance.

At that point, Aramis had become embroiled in that disease of annoyance, and he could take no more, taking personal affront at the mere thought that the business at hand had no substance. He slammed his fist onto the table, executing the perfect attack, as it had gathered the attention of them all, as they had expected it least from him. Without intent, Aramis realized that his gesture had startled Queen Anne, and he mentally apologized to the sole woman in the room – the one woman who was granted permission on the council simply because of her status as France's regent monarch. If not for her title – despite her political knowledge and wisdom in so many facets – she would have been denied entry to the room.

Dressed in a gown that was tinted in an eggshell color and trimmed in yellow lace, she sat regally and calmly, her long, blonde hair twisted and pinned in an elaborate braid that allowed her curls to rest over her left shoulder. Her delicate hands had rested lightly against the tabletop, her fingers lacing together during the heated argument but coming apart in the momentary silence after Aramis' outburst.

The former musketeer dared not look in her direction, for fear that her wisdom and kindness would calm him, especially when he needed the fight to remain in his veins. Instead, Aramis kept his focus before him, aware of Anne seated towards his left, and he mentally reminded himself to follow through later with a proper apology when they were alone.

"A vote?" Aramis shouted, as he stood, "That is what caused this indecision to start yesterday and carry on into today!"

He knew that this council was not capable of looking beyond the cavorting soldier that they had always known of him. Despite the blue coat of First Minister and the medal that solidified his position as such, he was still the same dark-haired man who wore a dashing goatee and partial beard on his face, making no effort to hide the scars that lined his cheek and forehead. He took this council position just as seriously as he had when he was a soldier of the Musketeers who fought and bled for France, the Queen, the now-deceased King, and of course, the dauphin. But, he still needed to fight – just not with weapons at this moment in his life – and as his hands spread on the table before him, he leaned his weight onto them to portray himself as an imposing figure of authority.

Before him on the table was a letter, and he picked it up knowing it was his last desperate argument to have on this matter. The letter contained the latest status he had received from Porthos, not more than two days earlier, begging for supplies of gun powder and food rations. Aramis had not relinquished the letter to the council until today, as he had hoped a sensible discussion the day before would have brought favorable results, but the council had wasted yesterday in bickering – not so much different than today.

Tossing the letter into the center of the table, and putting it on display for all of them to observe, Aramis could not contain the anger that bubbled within him, and he resumed his position of holding his weight on his hands.

"You cannot win a war with starving soldiers who are fighting without ammunition!" Aramis growled. His irritation expanded with every word he spoke, and he now stabbed a finger towards the parchment before him. "Read that letter, as it is substantial evidence of the troubles that our army faces. Yet, for the second day in a row, you continue to bicker as though the lives of our soldiers are an inconsequential burden none of you care to address. Again, I ask: how can you possibly consider a vote on this for a _second_ time? You will never be victorious against Spain if you do not appropriately supply the men fighting for you."

The elder man raised a pampered hand in a manner of calm, his gray beard shifting beneath his chin as he spoke. "Former Musketeer – "

" _First Minister_ ," Aramis corrected curtly, shifting his dark eyes to burrow into the older man as though firing his musket at him in order to receive just an ounce of proper respect.

Offering a slight, and possibly sarcastic smirk, the elder made a point to glance at Aramis' long, blue jacket and accompanying medal of position, before nodding his head in an insincere apology, "First Minister, my mistake. You are thinking far too much with your past experiences of being a musketeer and a soldier – much like the former Captain Treville had done."

"You have no right to address Treville in that manner," Aramis shot back in a seething tone, making no attempt to hide his contempt for having this man undermine every one of his suggestions in the past and go so far as to insult a man as honorable as Treville.

The elder held his position, neither raising his voice nor shifting his body, giving the impression that he was unfazed by Aramis' defense of his words. "The treasury funds will only stretch so far, and we had already sent provisions to the front lines last month…"

"In which the convoy carrying them had been subsequently attacked," Aramis interrupted, doing his best to hold down his fury as he was aware of Anne shifting beside him. "The provisions had been stolen before reaching the soldiers in need of them, and now the front lines are at least two months behind…"

"And, while that was an unfortunate circumstance of thievery, we must consider using the funds more wisely now in other ways," the elder pressed, ignoring Aramis' argument. "We cannot burden our subjects further with taxes to support the war."

"The stolen provisions are because you did not listen to me when I warned you about the delivery route!" Aramis shouted again. "It was this council that insisted on sending the provisions along a known course…"

"First Minister, you have spoken your peace," the tall, dark-haired man said bluntly. His beady, blue eyes stared unflinchingly, and he leaned forward to press his point. "It has been agreed upon that a vote will determine the matter of the provisions for the front lines, and we will make our decision at the time of the vote – _not_ before."

Finally turning to Anne, as he knew that he had exhausted all his resources, Aramis hoped that she would have seen reason in his arguments. Privately, he had discussed this very topic with her just the night before, reading to her the important points of Porthos' letter. During that privileged conversation, she had tactfully not made any promises to him that she would sway the council. Instead, she had explained that she had no choice but to remain neutral during the arguments so as not to give the council suspicion into their closeness. At that time, Aramis had understood her non-committal stand, but in the heated arguments during this morning's meeting, he was certain that she would have reasonably taken his side, as she had done with other matters in the past.

Anne's royal mask met Aramis' frustrated expression, and her words were carefully placed. Her tone was no less than that of a queen, overseeing the council for which she was a part, and she remained entirely neutral in her recommendations.

"I make a motion that we use the remainder of the day for preparing our thoughts and concerns," Anne instructed, her eyes now passing over the members of the council. "Our first order of business in the morning tomorrow will be a vote on the distribution of provisions to the front lines. Should the funding for provisions be voted against, each of you must provide this council with logical and sound reasons as to why. Then, I want you to have ready your alternate preference for where you believe the funds should be distributed. After hearing each of your choices, I will make the final decision."

The members of the council all followed Anne's lead as she stood, each dismissing themselves and leaving their mumbled "Yes, Majesty," in the space where they once occupied.

Aramis turned from the table, one hand brushing through his hair while the other landed on his hip. His eyes wandered to the windows outside as he stepped towards them, and he looked far into the distance of the sky, knowing that his beloved brother was under that blue horizon somewhere, doing his best to survive.

The hand that Aramis had pushed through his hair now landed on the frame of that window before him. Sighing, Aramis did not hide the grumble in his words as he spoke about the elder councilman. "Guillot had no right to address Treville with contempt, and I don't understand why none of them will ever think of me as anything other than a frolicking musketeer. They don't listen to me, even when I've proven them wrong."

"Nothing any of these men say will ever change my fond memories of Treville," Anne told him quietly, as she moved to him and put a careful hand upon his shoulder. "I listen to you, Aramis, but my authority as regent is limited. You know that when I am presented with valid arguments, I have always been able to sway the vote, just as I will do tomorrow."

"But you can't get them to change their minds about _me_ ," Aramis sighed, as his head fell to look at the floor before him. Stepping back from the window, he turned and felt Anne's hand lift from him. This time both his hands ran through his hair, nearly pulling on the long strands and when his hands fell to his sides this time, he released that growl of frustration. "I can't suffocate here any longer."

"Aramis?" Anne asked softly, nervously.

He reached forward and took her hands in his, letting his dark eyes consume her blue irises. "One afternoon, please. I am confined and aggravated in ways that I fear will cause me to say something I will regret."

Anne's eyes shifted briefly to the letter on the table, still on display where Aramis had left it. She said one name, understanding Aramis' frustrations. "Porthos."

Aramis kissed her fingers, closing his eyes at the softness of her skin, never once regretting the life he had chosen with her, but in this moment he needed to escape from the annoyances of it. That boiling cauldron of anger was building once again in him as he thought of his greatest friend starving to death or being shot on an under-supplied battlefield. As Aramis lowered her hands from his lips, he knew she was the last person who deserved to feel the wrath of helpless ire he was experiencing at the mere thought of Porthos' potential demise.

"My sweet Aramis," Anne murmured gently, her voice on the edge of sympathy, "Your gentle heart is too kind for this council's deceit, and Porthos does not deserve the fate you fear for him. Take your leave, but please return to me settled and soothed."

"Thank you," he whispered softly, knowing that Anne understood his concern for his brother, and he had no doubt that she would find a way to cleverly bring Porthos the aid he needs. However, the one thing she could not ease was the council not considering him as a serious colleague, and he needed his time away in order to ease the annoyance that the others had placed on his soul.

Releasing her hands, Aramis found himself moving swiftly through the palace halls and doing his best to avoid eye contact with everyone he passed. He kept his irises slightly lowered, using his peripheral vision to ensure his motions were without incident. He found the room he sought, and as he stepped into it, his hands were already tearing his first minister's coat off his shoulders. He held it before him for a brief moment, reflecting on how it hadn't changed anyone's perceptions of him, and in annoyance, he balled it in his hands before tossing it against the back of the chair, watching it fall downward to land on the seat beneath the desk. Then, he reached up and removed the medal of his station, suddenly realizing that he had heard an odd noise near his desk when the coat had landed on the chair.

Setting the medal on the shelf, his hand instead took hold of the dagger that he kept there, hidden in the shadows. Slowly, Aramis stepped cautiously towards his desk, listening carefully for the noise again and was not disappointed when there was a thump. What he didn't expect was the exclamation of an "Ow!" in a child's voice.

Slamming the dagger onto the desk, Aramis came around and pulled the chair out from under the wooden structure. He caught sight of the small, blonde-haired boy dressed in a green suit of well-tailored fabrics, his body curled in a ball while sitting on the floor. He was rubbing his forehead with one of his hands, his blue eyes looking up in something not quite fear, but certainly not in joy either. He appeared more as a red-handed thief who was caught with his fingers roaming the pastry table, knowing he was now going to forfeit his dessert as penance for the crime.

"Majesty, what have we talked about with playing hide and seek in my office?" Aramis questioned sternly. This was just another aggravation onto his already overflowing well of annoyances today, and for as much as he loved the boy and being in his company, there were times when his intrusions – just like any child's – were simply inappropriate.

"I'm not playing!" the child responded quietly, but angrily. "She won't listen to me."

"I'm afraid I'm not very sociable today," Aramis told him as he stepped away and started to pull a leather coat from one of the racks on the wall. "I'm in no mood for games or conversation, and I'm going out for a while to soothe my aggravations."

While Aramis was settling the coat over his shoulders, he was aware that the child had crawled out from the desk, but stayed low on the floor, keeping his eyes on him and occasionally scanning the door as though watching for his governess to come for him. The former musketeer continued to move about the office, gathering his weapons belts and strapping them upon his body.

"I know you're angry," the boy whispered cautiously but also worriedly. "I heard you yelling at the council. Are they really planning to abandon Porthos?"

At that, Aramis paused in his movements, his hand frozen in the moment as it was wrapped around the musket but did not lift it from the table near the desk. He swallowed hard, and shook his head, realizing that the young king must have hurried from outside the council chambers when the council was in the midst of dismissing. His timing had not given him the opportunity to hear the private conversation in which Anne had promised to find a way to help Porthos, but the child had heard more than enough.

"They won't listen to me, Majesty," Aramis sighed, his words sounding more annoyed than childish. "Most of the time, I don't know what they will do, and I fear that if it wasn't for your mother's concerns for Porthos, I believe they would let him die in war."

Standing now, the child quietly asked, "Where are you going?"

Aramis picked up the musket, slipping it onto his belt before he turned to his shelf, finding his cavalier. He held the hat in his hands before him and looked at the dauphin. "There is a place just on the far perimeter of the palace grounds that I use for targeting. No one bothers me there."

"You have to take me with you," the young king demanded eagerly, yet keeping the pleading in his soft voice. "She hurt me and won't listen."

Fatherly instincts suddenly crashed over Aramis as though someone had thrown a tree across the raging waters of his already-disturbed emotions. It shifted that irritated current flowing within him, but it did not ease the anger he was feeling. His voice came out stiff, laced with fearsome protection. "Who has hurt you and how?"

"Suzette keeps sticking me with pins so she can make me more clothes, and she keeps squeezing my feet into shoes that hurt," he answered, stepping closer as he talked about his governess. "I don't want a new outfit. I told her that we should give the cloth to Porthos to help him and his men, but she tells me I'm too young to understand."

The child looked with hope to the former musketeer. "Aramis, you and Mother tell me to listen, to be aware of the talk in the palace. I do listen, but they only see me as a little boy."

Aramis looked to the cavalier in his hands, and then to the child that was his son, despite how this young king would never be allowed to know his true parentage. The boiling of anger continued to seethe within him, but it had been cooled slightly by the innocent kindness of this child before him who wanted to help the friend of France's First Minister. Aramis decided that perhaps what he needed wasn't a lonely afternoon, but one that could allow both him and his son to heal from their annoyances.

"Majesty, I need your assurance that you will heed my warnings," Aramis instructed.

"I will, Aramis," the boy pleaded. "I know you and Mother don't want me harmed, and I will listen to you. I promise!"

Putting the cavalier on young Louis' head, Aramis then moved to his desk, aware of the honesty that was in the boy's eyes. He pulled from the top drawer a piece of parchment, and from a side drawer an inkwell and a quill. Dipping the quill into the inkwell, Aramis scribbled something onto the parchment for a few moments. When he was done, he put the supplies back and set the unlit candlestick holder upon the edge of the parchment so that it would not fly away in the event that someone stormed into his office and caused an unintentional breeze. The last thing he needed after his actions in the council chambers this morning was the accusation of kidnapping the dauphin.

Motioning for the child to exit the office with him, Aramis led his secret son through the palace, talking about mundane topics, such as the weather and his tutoring lessons. They were questioned a few times along the way, and their reply was always the same – despite which one of them gave it: The dauphin had requested that Aramis play an adventure game with him in the gardens, and Aramis was taking precautions with the future king's safety by playing his personal guard. The note that had been left behind in the office had reiterated the same, and it was the best reassurance he could give Anne that Louis would be safe under his care, should she be looking for either of them.

By the time they were free of the palace walls, where the people were further spread out from hearing their conversation, Aramis had allowed Louis to begin talking more openly and less about the superficial things that they had earlier in their walk.

"Why won't the council help Porthos?" Louis asked, as he walked beside Aramis, reaching up occasionally to use his little hands to shift the slightly over-sized cavalier back into place on his head so he could see better.

Aramis had his hands set with one on his musket, and the other against his sword to keep it from bouncing against his hip as he kept up with the boy's fast and bouncy pace. At first, he wasn't certain he wanted to breach such a sensitive topic, but he had ultimately decided that he would not deny his son the moments to learn about the duties and decisions that would one day be difficult for him to resolve.

"It's a little complicated," Aramis started, "But the people had already been requested to give aid to the war a couple months ago. Asking them again for help may lose some of their support, and we cannot afford to have a rebellion in our own country while we are at war with Spain."

"Don't the people know that Porthos is keeping Spain from hurting them?" Louis asked. "They would help if they knew that."

"I'm afraid, Majesty, not everyone knows Porthos as closely as you and I do," Aramis replied, strangely feeling a sense of relief that the dauphin's innocence about war had provided him with an opportunity to explore it in ways that he had not considered previously. "And, people only like to give so much before they feel they are being robbed, even by a monarchy that has the best intentions."

"But, I am willing to give my clothes and other things. If each person gave up just one item, wouldn't that be enough?"

Aramis took a quiet breath and decided that it was time to bluntly inform the future king of what some of his subjects really were like. "Many of the people have very few things to begin with, Majesty. Many of them live on lands that give just enough food for their families, and they have to trade for items they don't have or can't make themselves. You may think that one loaf of bread is nothing, but for one family, that loaf of bread may be all their food for a week. I've seen children wear only one outfit with holes patched over it multiple times, and as they grow, the seams are opened and fabric is sewn in its place when the garment starts to get too small."

Louis shifted his glance to look at Aramis, seeming to be saddened by such truths. "Doesn't the treasury have enough money to help everyone?"

"Wars are expensive," Aramis explained, "And, we've used so much of the money that there is no choice now but to burden the people."

"Is this why you were so angry?" Louis asked, showing concern. "Was it because you can't find a good solution?"

"Yes," Aramis admitted. "I want to do everything I can to keep Porthos safe and win the war for France, but the council has valid arguments to defend the people and their contributions. If they had only listened to me about the transport route last month, the previous supplies would not have been stolen."

"What happened?"

"I told them to take a northern route that ran parallel to a river. The sound of the rushing water would have helped to cover the noises of the wagons. Plus, the forestry would have given the convoy concealment. The council argued that it would take three days longer, and the ground was not stable enough." Feeling his frustrations surfacing again, Aramis shook his head as his voice began showing signs of anger. "I know those lands, as I had gone through them many times before, but the council did not heed my advice. They believed in speed rather than security, and they told me that I was but a mere musketeer who did not understand that there is a greater efficiency required when dealing in war supplies."

Realizing his hands had balled into fists, Aramis bore his eyes before him and looked at the pathway amidst the last of the sculptured trees of the gardens. "Majesty, not one of those other council members has ever been in war or a battle. They do not understand the risks and the challenges, and I do not know why, but they will never see me as an equal."

"Just like everyone only sees me as a child," the boy sighed as they started moving again. "If not for you and Mother, no one would ever listen to me."

Aramis felt his tension ease at his son's sad words, grateful that he was one of the few people who actually had the young king's genuine respect. But, then again, Aramis could never tell this child it was because he was his father, and the parental bonds that Anne and he shared with the boy were the basis for such respect.

"When I am playing, everyone ignores me, but when I ask a very serious question, they all smile and tell me that I am growing into a king, like my father." Louis' voice began rising with his frustration as he continued walking with Aramis beside him, "But, they never answer my question! They just go back to their business and ignore me. It's why I started hiding in your office. You always talk to me and answer my questions."

Aramis stopped walking suddenly and put a hand gently upon the boy's shoulder. "Majesty, I'm sorry I told you not to play in my office, but there is a matter of safety in addition to the arguments that spill over from the council into my office."

"I know not to touch your weapons or your belongings, Aramis," Louis sighed heavily, "And, Mother says that listening to arguments can help understand both sides of a problem. Suzette doesn't like going into any of the rooms without permission, so I hide from her in there."

Aramis looked around him, noticing that they had reached the border of the palace grounds. He saw the large rock ahead of them that was nearly as tall as Aramis and almost as wide as he was tall. There were chips in the rock where small pieces had been blasted away by the onslaught of musket balls. He took the musket from his side and knelt down beside the king.

Lifting the cavalier from Louis' head, Aramis gave a lopsided smile as he realized that the dauphin had never once tried to remove the hat. Instead, he had worn it proudly, adjusting it as they walked, and not complaining about it when it shifted. Allowing Louis to see without the obstruction of the hat, Aramis set it instead on his own head and held the musket before the future king, its barrel facing towards the rock a short distance before them.

"Majesty, would you like to take the first shot?" Aramis asked.

The boy's eyes widened, and he hesitantly brought his hands forward to wrap around the musket. Aramis adjusted Louis' small hands so that his positioning was safely away from the barrel. Holding the musket raised towards the rock, Aramis noted that Louis' fingers were too short to reach around the trigger. He smiled at the boy's insistence to get his fingers into the trigger guard as Louis put both his hands together.

"I'm too small!" the dauphin grumbled in frustration.

"I think we can still manage," Aramis assured. "Patience, Majesty."

The former musketeer raised the musket to target the large rock, his left hand beneath the barrel to steady the weapon. His right hand wrapped around Louis' small fingers, and as he pressed his right index finger within the trigger, he felt Louis' finger desperately stretch to connect to the trigger. The musket clicked, but did not yet fire, as Aramis was careful about not fully pulling the trigger and setting off the hammer.

"Ready?" he asked.

Louis nodded in anticipation, and Aramis felt the child tremble with excitement.

"Squeeze," Aramis instructed, giving Louis' finger the slightest pressure, and the hammer audibly clicked just a half-second before the musket released its predicted explosion in the barrel, and they heard the chip of the rock before them as the ball struck true.

Louis tumbled backwards a little, but Aramis had already been positioned to catch the child. Turning his face to look at the first minister he trusted, Louis released a beaming smile.

"Can I do that again?" he asked.

Aramis set the musket on the ground before them, and as the dauphin stood straight, he asked. "First tell me what you were thinking as you were firing."

The boy looked at the rock and then to the weapon, crinkling his forehead in thought. "That I've never done this before, and I was hoping I wouldn't get hurt because Mother would punish both of us. Then, I was just annoyed because I'm too little to do it alone."

"And, what are you thinking now?" Aramis pressed.

"That it's scary but exciting, and I want to come here again with you."

Smiling, Aramis then reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a musket ball. He took one of Louis' hands and put the ball within it. "Now, to teach you how to load the musket."

For the next hour, father and son stayed in that private area of the palace borders, and with Aramis' help, Louis learned a little bit about how to load a musket and how to fire one with the assistance of a former musketeer. At one point, Louis started to show some creativity, and he found objects to put in front of the rock for Aramis to shoot. One of those was a chunk of wood from an old tree stump, and another was a handkerchief that Louis had pressed into the cracks of the rock.

Allowing himself a moment to boast his skills, Aramis had tossed a chunk of wood from that broken tree trunk into the air, and shot it before it struck the ground. Louis had been fascinated and applauded in delight, laughing that he wanted to learn how to do that, too.

Laying on the ground now, the young king looked up to the clouds above them that painted the azure canvas of the sky while Aramis sat enjoying the spring afternoon. The scent of gun powder had drifted away on the gentle breeze, and the sweetened blooms of the flowers had again taken over the air. The birds that had scattered after they took the first shot had slowly returned, their songs and squawks making an attempt to produce music around them.

"Do we have to go back?" Louis asked, as he squinted one eye closed and used his finger to trace over a cloud that resembled the shape of a rabbit.

"Well, for as much as I like being away from people who don't respect me, I think at some point we do have to return to our duties," Aramis explained, looking from his son's imaginary drawings to the chipped rock before them. He had left his cavalier on the ground beside him, and it awaited his attention like an obedient pet.

"I think Mother will make sure Porthos gets his supplies," the child decided. "She is so clever."

"Yes, she is," Aramis agreed with a smile as he bent one knee before him and draped his arm across it. He looked up to the rabbit cloud that was already shifting into a cat, as the points of the long ears had broken apart and were drifting off on their own. "But, what about people not listening to you?"

Louis dropped his hand onto his stomach and turned his head to look at Aramis. "You will always listen to me, won't you?"

"Always, Majesty," Aramis smiled. "And, I suppose there really is no harm in hiding in my office for now if you need. Maybe one day I'll show you a few of the other hiding places I have discovered around the palace grounds."

"Does Mother know where you hide?"

Aramis gave a light chuckle and lowered his head for a brief moment, sharing a private joke with himself. He couldn't dare tell Louis about some of those hidden places and the activities that he and Anne had shared in them. "Perhaps a place or two."

"I want this place to be ours, Aramis," Louis nodded, with determination in his voice. "With no one to annoy us."

"I think I can agree to that, Majesty." Picking up the cavalier, Aramis gathered his feet beneath him and returned the musket to his side before he helped Louis stand. "Now, it's time for us to make our way back."

As Louis caught Aramis' eye, the First Minister of France lowered his cavalier, and returned it to the dauphin's head once more. The child smiled, but before they started back towards the palace, Louis reached out and grabbed Aramis' hand. Then, he led the man he considered his friend back down the pathway that would return them to the gardens, and eventually the palace.

Walking hand in hand now, the annoyance that they each had shared subsided during their time together, and they had both decided that even though they were more alike than anyone else would ever realize, they would always have each other when they were being ignored by those who believed to know better than them.


End file.
